Culinary Review
By Will Pfeifer
As you adjust your clothing after passing through security at the recently reopened Bete Précaire, a wealth of sensations greets you. The subtle aroma of pimple medicine from the busboys on work-release from St. Ruffian’s. The nostalgic sight of vintage recruiting posters from the Third Colonial Conflict. And yes, the piercing screams of the entree you’re about to eat.
Disconcerting? Decidedly. Delicious? Definitely.
Because Bete Précaire famously (and infamously) specializes in the three E’s of Extreme Cuisine – exotic, endangered, and downright extinct – it’s a once-of-a-kind, quasi-legal, utterly amoral culinary experience. And I give it five stars.
After selecting our wine (a dark, rich, understandably anonymous burgundy sourced from grapes stolen during last year’s terrorist attack on the Svalbard Global Seed Vault), we moved onto the appetizers.
The waiter suggested (rather forcefully, I might add) the Buffalo Gnat wings, which were tasty and fun (those genetically grown insect wings are wonderfully crunchy – and with no bones to contend with!) if, alas, a tad too saucy.
Then, after a small bowl of L’agent L’orange sorbet to cleanse the palate, we proceeded to the aforementioned main course.
We’d heard about the signature dish at Bete Précaire, both from our foodie friends and from the food itself as we entered the restaurant (the aforementioned screaming). Our waiter insisted (again, rather forcefully) that the sounds we heard were, in fact, screams of ecstasy and not agony. That’s because we’d ordered (long in advance, as is required) L’Porc Baleine. Developed in underground labs during the water wars of the last decade, the whale calf/pig hybrid was durable, reliable, and unnervingly intelligent.
It was also, as I said, delicious. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First a word about the presentation: The dish wasn’t so much brought to us as we were brought to it. A squad of St. Ruffian busboys carried our chairs back to a special seating area in the kitchen of Bete Précaire, where our chef, who preferred to remain anonymous (as well as masked), wheeled out the tank containing our entree. As the boys tied bibs around our necks and our waiter presented us with larger-than-normal forks and sharper-than-normal knives, we prepared to dig in.
“Welcome, folks! My name is Bubbles! Hope you enjoy your meal!”
As you might recall, if you’re a culinary (or military history) buff, the whale/pig hybrids were bred to have tough skin (hence those knives) and tender insides (in case troops were forced to feast on them). And, to ensure they’d rush into battle, their pain sensors were not only switched off, they were switched, period, causing the tasty beasts to experience agony as ecstasy. Bad for their species, great for us foodies.
The ability to speak was an unforeseen development, which led troops being demoralized, the program being disbanded, and the hybrids going extinct. Except for a few military installations, water parks, and high-end, low-visibility restaurants, you just can’t find them – let alone eat them. Which is what brought us to Bete Précaire in the first place.
Bubbles seemed to enjoy the meal as much as we did, suggesting cuts of meat to try, apologizing for sections that weren’t quite as tender or well-seasoned as he’d hoped, and offering a fascinating (if unnerving) running commentary until we sunk those forks into his frontal lobe and took a bite of the most prized cut of them all, “Le Cerveau l’Orca.” His porcine lips curled into a smile, his eyes rolled back in bliss, and he passed away.
Then we ate the eyes, the second most-prized cut. Salty, savory, and worth the nightmares we’d have that night. Like I said, disconcerting but delicious.
Escorted back to the dining room proper by that squad of busboys (who stood over us as we finished our meal – Bete Précaire demands a quick customer turnover), we found our pre-ordered dessert waiting for us: some sort of suet-based snack tube the waiter called “Twinkies” and described as “an ancient delicacy.” Whatever they were, they tasted sweet, surprisingly greasy, and magnificently well-preserved.
Finally, given that reservations are so hard to come by at Bete Précaire, we secured a spot for our next visit, this time choosing the restaurant’s notorious “Jeu le plus Dangereux” special, wherein the diners hunt their own food. I have no idea what’s on the menu, but judging by the waiter’s sly smile – and his glance at the table next to ours, where they were apparently selecting the same option – it’s bound to be life changing. Bon appetit!
Bete Précaire
Price range: $$$ right up to ∞
Cuisines: Classified
Phone Number: Classified
Address: Classified
Review: Will Pfeifer
Illustrations: Mark Scott Ricketts
The St. Ruffian work release program
St. Ruffian scholars are crude, surly, reckless, and barely potty-trained. But if your shady criminal enterprise is in need of an able-bodied young scoundrel with certain — shall we say — unsavory skills, these scamps are fully qualified. For more information visit our campus.
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